


Better Than Nicotine

by StagnationRebel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Addiction, BBC, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Better Then Nicotine, Fluff, I don't know what I've done, I refuse to let this one be sad too!, Johnlock - Freeform, Love, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Unless you count John, flirty Sherlock, flirty john, its happening anyways, not really - Freeform, tags to change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:31:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StagnationRebel/pseuds/StagnationRebel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not a case to be heard and not a cigarette to be found, Sherlock is desperate! But John presents Sherlock with a case he can't refuse! It starts with a simple kiss just for kicks, but was it something more? That's for John to know and Sherlock to find out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            Sherlock felt raw, mind clawing away at his sanity. He turned on the couch over and over until he robe was tangled around his waist. Nothing he did made him comfortable, but he needed to do something before the madness overcame him. In swift motion, Sherlock rolled off the couch, eyes scanning the flat as he scuttled around. He needed to be quick, so no one else knew where his stash was. Every now and then he had to change it up because Mrs. Hudson or John would find it and the lot. Imbeciles, all of them!

            When he knew it was clear, he skittered over to the kitchen, to the sink. He pulled open the little doors and put his hand to the roof of the cabinet. But his hand felt paper, not cigarettes. Frustrated, Sherlock savagely ripped the paper down, bringing it out to see. It was a note from John. Damn him, he’d found the stash and hid it else where. At least that’s what the note said. Knowing John, he wouldn’t keep it in the flat, probably brought them to his office.

            A wave of insanity washed over him and he shredded the note into a million pieces before tossing them into the air. He scrounged around for his wallet and dashed out the front door to sniff out the nearest cigarette in London. He bought a pack, okay two, and a pack of nicotine patches incase John found the cigarettes.

            He was tempted, as soon as he had them in his hands, to smoke a cigarette, maybe three right then and there, but he decided, he wanted the moment to be perfect. So, Sherlock waited, making his way home, though he wasn’t one to take his time on his way there. Sherlock was practically sprinting by the time he made it home. He bound up the stairs, taking as many of them as he could at a time, putting his long legs to full use!

            The living room was so close, just out of his reach. He could see the fire place! He could see John! John was home! Fantastic! Wait. Not fantastic! John would steal his cigarettes! His patches! It wasn’t fair! He’d just gotten them!

            Quickly, Sherlock looked around. There was no place to put them, no place that John wouldn’t see the second he looked over. So, Sherlock tucked them into the waist band of his pajama pants in the back, cloaking them with the robe. He masked his face, flattening it into boredom as he strode in through door.

            John was sitting, the daily paper in his hands, but as Sherlock entered, John’s gaze landed on the consulting detective. His eyes narrowed, scanning Sherlock- who filled with brief panic and regret. It was a fools choice to inform John the different between seeing and observing, for if John only saw, then Sherlock could get away with his little secret. But if John observed, Sherlock’s appearance alone would dictate suspicious activity with his elevated breathing, the pink in his cheeks from clearly being outside. Then the door slamming and the stomping up the stairs. He’d obviously done something.

            “So, Sherlock,” John smiled placidly as he laid the paper on the table. He stood and adjusted himself before tucking his arms neatly at his sides. “Where have you been?”

            Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I was bored. I went outside.” He raised his hands and shook them dramatically, “Fresh air.”

            John’s head dropped down and he let out a heavy sigh, “I’m not stupid. You left quite the mess in the kitchen.”

            Blast! The note he’d torn up in his rage. He’d never cleaned it up.

            Hand out, John waited and Sherlock knew what for, so with a heavy sigh, Sherlock reached around his back and handed over two packs of cigarettes. John tucked them away in his pocket and he would find a place to put them. Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, annoyed, but quietly hoping John wouldn’t know about the patches he still had hidden.

            “Sherlock, sometimes, I swear I just don’t know what to do with you,” John sighed, shaking his head as he placed a hand on his hip. “Did you check the website for a case? Spoken to Lestrade? Anything?”

            “Of course!” Sherlock exclaimed, tossing his hands up and striding past John. “I’m not stupid, John.”

            “Oh but you can be,” John grumbled. “I’m sure we can find you something.”

            “Right, um, I’m just going to bed,” Sherlock lied, needing to get away so he could find some place to hide his new stash.

            “I’ll wake you when I find you a case,” John said, watching as Sherlock walked away, a frown on his lips. Sherlock didn’t understand why, though. It wasn’t like it was drugs because he could be doing that right now, but no, he was being healthy. Besides, what was a cigarette or fifteen in a time of need? Nothing!

            Shutting his door and not waiting, Sherlock tore the box of patches open and stuck three on his arm right away. He shivered with pleasure as the nicotine entered his system, dropping on to his bed. His nerves eased and his brain relaxed finally, allowing him to breathe.

            The door exploded open and Sherlock nearly flew from his bed as he grabbed his pillow, whipping it at whoever entered. He was ready for a fight, though he didn’t need to be. John caught the pillow and stood there, staring at him with annoyance dancing across his eyes.

            “Really, Sherlock?” John said, his tone flat. He tossed the pillow aside and marched over to Sherlock as he stood. “Do you think I wouldn’t consider that you bought patches?”

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sherlock replied, looking away to the ceiling. The only way out of this was to tackle John, but if he really did that, then he knew he had a problem- that the addict in him was too strong.

            John grabbed Sherlock’s arm and pulled the sleeve up, revealing the patches. Sherlock refused to look, refused to see John’s disappointment, but he could still feel it in the way John gripped his wrist, how thick it made the air feel. He could feel it even more so when John let him go, as if he’d given up. The thought that John was giving up caused tightening in his chest, a twisting in his stomach.

            “All you need is a case, right?” John asked after a while.

            Sherlock looked to John, but this time, John was the one looking away, eyes trained out the window. He was clenching and unclenching his hands at his side, but other than that he was standing perfectly still.

            “Yes,” Sherlock said. “My mind needs stimulation.”

            John’s lips twitched before he looked to Sherlock, “I have a case for you.”

            Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock became curious at what John could’ve conjured up in mere seconds; at what he thought might be a mystery. But curiosity was overcome by shock as John grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him down. John’s lips were softer then Sherlock would’ve expected, though they were lightly chapped.

            “Figure that one out,” John remarked, pulling away quickly. He stared at Sherlock briefly before turning away and making his way out.

            “Fake,” Sherlock quickly called, a guess really, but John stopped walking and looked over his shoulder.

            “Was it? Are you sure, Sherlock?” John inquired, teasing his mind in so many ways Sherlock didn’t quite understand, but if there was one thing he did understand, it was that John Hamish Watson was his favorite mystery to solve. When they’d first met, he’d assumed John was gay, not right away. It was early on, the way he looked at Sherlock or the way he asked Sherlock about significant others. Over time though, that all changed, and now, it was changing again. Sherlock didn’t know. He never knew. The mystery of John was always changing. Trembling and afraid to steady and strong. Kind and caring to a solid wall of fury. Aloof to alert.

            As soon as John disappeared through the door, Sherlock pried the nicotine patches off his arms and flopped down on his bed. He snatched his pillow and clutched it to his chest, heart thrumming. This wasn’t his normal thinking position, but for some reason, what he was doing felt oddly like the thing to be doing. So he laid there and let his mind ponder, going over all the details of John, of all the things they’ve been through. Every moment between them from their words, spoken and shared with a glance; their actions together and even apart.

            John had always stuck by his side, even after being warned by people like Sally, after being threatened; even after Sherlock was proven to be quite an inconsiderate person and disastrous roommate. John had still stuck around. Even paid him compliments.

            It made Sherlock smile, the thought of all that John had done for him, all that he was willing to put up with. After years of Mycroft convincing him he was stupid and all the years of being called a freak by everyone at the yard, it felt _good_ to be appreciated, to be understood. Meeting John was like that ray of sun after years of drowning in down pours of contempt and fear that came from everyone around him. Sherlock loved that about John, that John could make him feel whole and appreciated, important to someone. Sherlock just really loved John.

            _Wait, what?_ _No, that couldn’t be right, could it? Love? I don’t love. How the hell am I supposed to respond to that?_

 

            John found his way back to the living room and sat down. His leg bounced and his nerves were all over the place. He couldn’t bring himself to sit still and propelled himself off the chair again, pacing, unable to process what he’d just done. In his mind, he had known Sherlock needed something to keep himself entertained, but as entertaining as this could be, John couldn’t understand why he did it. He wasn’t sure anymore if it was just because it was a funny thought.

            In all the years that he and Sherlock have lived together, John had never questioned his own sexuality- even though literally everyone else had. Early on, he might have wondered about Sherlock, but he eventually discovered what Sherlock really thought about love of any kind, that it was all just human error. But now, after that kiss, John was wondering why he acted on the thought. He wondered why he was thinking about it so much. If it had just been for kicks, wouldn’t he be over it by now?

            His palms began to sweat as his mind ran over their time together as roommates since they day they had met. Their cases and conversations and daily routines flashed before his eyes, a few sticking out more then others. All the good times and bad times, all the times they’d laughed at things they should have and sulked at the things they couldn’t do. As he thought about it, a smile crept up his lips. John was perfectly happy with his life at 221B Baker Street, knew that moving in there with Sherlock was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to him.

            John also realized that over time, he had paid Sherlock compliments that men don’t normally exchange with each other, that on more then one occasion chosen Sherlock over his girlfriend of the time. Thinking about it, when he often tried not to, he killed someone for Sherlock- may have been a terrible cabbie, but he was a person nonetheless. Without question, he had willingly put his life at risk, had thought of Sherlock’s life before his own. Perhaps, all of those people who had assumed he was gay saw something in him that he hadn’t seen in himself. Hell, maybe he wasn’t gay, maybe it was just Sherlock. They just worked well together, were perfect for each other, each one’s strength complimentedhe other’s weaknesses, in the way they simply understood each other.

            Taking a moment to process what he just processed, John froze. Perfect for each other? Oh god, maybe he really did have feelings for Sherlock.

            Starting out subtle, a panic began to settle over John. If he had feelings for Sherlock, it certainly was a stupid thing to try and act on them, to try and have Sherlock figure it out. Sherlock might ask him to leave or he himself would leave or the way he acted towards John would change.

            Oh my god, he felt so stupid!

            He racked a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Things would be fine. Sherlock was always a little off when it came to people, and even if he did understand John, he would probably over look it. Nothing would change.

            John heard movement in Sherlock’s room and froze completely.

            Nope!

            He wasn’t ready to face Sherlock’s answer, so he quickly and quietly made his way down to Mrs. Hudson’s flat. His knuckled rapped on her door until she finally decided to answer with a confused and horrified look crinkling her face.

            “What’s the matter dear?” she asked, poking her head out and looking around. “Is there something going on?”

            “Not really,” John lied, finding himself short of breath. “Just wanted to visit, that’s all.”

            Mrs. Hudson gave a smile; she always loved it when John and Sherlock came down to visit her instead of her having to travel up to them. She stepped aside and let John in, informing him she was brewing a fresh pot of tea. John took a seat at her kitchen table and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. His heart was beating madly, as if he’d just gone for a run.

            “Everything alright with you and Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson ventured, digging out a couple of tea cups.

            John opened his eyes and looked at her, saying, “You know, we never were a couple, nor are we.” Hell, after this, they might even be roommates- though he prayed it would never come to that.

            Mrs. Hudson simply smiled at him as she poured his tea. She handed it over and sat down across from him. Her hazel eyes filled with some deep, all knowing look that John just didn’t understand. What did all these people see that he failed to?

            There was another knock at Mrs. Hudson’s door and she set her cup down to answer it. As she stood, John was tempted to call after her, tell her not to answer it or for her to say he wasn’t there, but it was too late. She’d popped the door open and Sherlock was standing there. He was still ruffled and in his robe, but there was something different about him now. John couldn’t place it exactly. He seemed resolute. Determined.

            John felt himself gulp, but he kept his expression like stone. Sherlock would not notice. Sipping his tea, he watched as Sherlock politely made his way around Mrs. Hudson, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. His eyes found John’s and just the simple look gave him heart palpitations.

            “So, Sherlock,” John smiled, keeping his demeanor as cool as possible, and surprisingly his voice came out quite steady, “Solved the case already?”

            Sherlock smiled, “John, I realize this is a case of love that you presented me with. Love is no easy thing to define or contemplate, but it is a foolish thing. People, when in love, they don’t think right and they become idiots-”

            John could feel it coming, the disappointment he thought he’d be able to avoid, but it was too late to avoid it now. He couldn’t go back and undo his foolish little mistake, couldn’t unrealize what he felt.

            “- I’ve also come to realize that since this is a very particular case of love, that perhaps I should view it differently,” Sherlock continued, unable to see the internal melt down John was dealing with. “I shouldn’t use my head to figure this own out because this involves me. It’s not always easy to view things objectively when its about yourself. I’ve decided to try this out the way you would, with gut instinct and raw feeling, by using my heart.”

            “And your conclusion?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

            Sherlock leaned down with a smile as he pushed a hand through that sandy blonde hair until he was cradling the back of John’s head. He pulled him close, pressing their lips together. It was softer the second time around, more innocent, like two people taking their first steps on a thrilling new adventure.

 

This feeling, it was better than any amount of nicotine could give Sherlock, more satisfying. It pushed away the stagnation that clawed at Sherlock’s mind, driving away the insanity. All because of John.

            “And you try and tell me there was never a relationship,” Mrs. Hudson scoffed in the background. “Ha!”


	2. So Much Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> literally had no intentions of continuing this, but a 3am-no-sleep-why-the-hell-not-lets-yolo fueled moment, i decided to do the thing, so heres the thing.

“Bloody show-offs, the lot of you,” John laughed, pulling his lips away from Sherlock and looking from him to Mrs. Hudson. They were all smiling, all three, like a bunch of idiots and John just couldn’t believe it. Of all the things he thought about him and Sherlock doing, this certainly had never been one of them, though, he wasn’t complaining. Yet. This was Sherlock after all.

“Would you have me any other way?” Sherlock teased, “I mean really, John, why else would you stick around?”

An easy smirk slid across John’s face as he looked at Sherlock. “Please, if that was the only reason I stayed, I would’ve gone insane a long time ago, what with you sticking heads in the fridge.”

“He still doing that?” Mrs. Hudson asked, a look of horror crossing her features for the briefest second.

“It was an experiment,” Sherlock quickly defended, standing up a little straighter.

“When is it not?” John laughed, shaking his head. Boy, what was he getting himself into?

“My boys,” Mrs. Hudson beamed, but John had a feeling that it wasn’t simply because she was happy for them. She had been right. The. Whole. Damn. Time. And she knew it.

Sherlock’s arm stayed around John, and he pressed a kiss into John’s sandy hair, leaving John breathless for a moment. He eyed Sherlock next to him, unable to tell out of the three of them who was the happiest about this, and realized in that moment more than any other, that everyone had Sherlock wrong. He may be smarter than all the rest, but he was certainly no different than the rest at his core. In his heart. Even if he didn’t know it yet, love came as naturally to him as liking crap telly. It wasn’t something someone could just _not_ do.

“You’re staring,” Sherlock pointed out, only making him stand up taller and smile wider.

“I do that a lot actually,” John confessed, and really, how could one not? Seriously. Those glorious dark curls, those perfect eyes so full of questions and color and life. That beautiful smile and brilliant mind. Annoying and ignorant at times, but so full of heart. Damn, what did he get himself into? How fast was he going to spiral into this? “I’ll stop if you like.”

“No-no, that’s… that’s perfectly alright,” Sherlock smiled.

As if John had any intentions of stopping anyways.

 

 

At the diner, John and Sherlock sat in their usual spot by the window, the waiter, as always, brought them their candle and menus. It felt like an actual date, but John did know better. This was just a normal lunch-dinner thing. Yeah.

“You look nervous,” Sherlock teased and John felt his face redden with heat. This wasn’t fair. He had no clue what was going on in that pretty head of Sherlock’s, while Sherlock was acting perfectly normal. No. That wasn’t right. He wasn’t acting entirely like he always did. There was something different, something smoother about everything he did, something with an easy confidence instead of that stiff and tense façade he put on for everyone else. Meanwhile, John felt like a fretting school girl.

“I don’t do nervous, Sherlock,” John lied, trying for that same slick tone Sherlock was using, moving with the same grace. It wasn’t working so nicely. God, he really was a school girl.

“You’re so cute when you do that,” Sherlock said, smirking and leaning forward. “When you think you’re getting away with some lie. You’re palms are sweating, your blushing. Your leg is bouncing.” John’s face only became redder and he tried to hide his smile. “That, right there. That’s also cute.”

“My god, I don’t think I’ve heard you compliment me that many times in a single sentence,” John laughed, doing his best to not be a school girl.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “John, you live with me, are with me every day. I can tolerate your presence in my life more than I can deal with anyone else. I pay you that compliment every day, nearly every second.” Sherlock leaned in a little closer. “Better even that I enjoy your company and you enjoy mine.”

Where the hell was this Sherlock coming from? John certainly wanted to know. Because as far as John knew, Sherlock was new to the dating thing. Could he really have come into his wings so quickly?

“You’re so full of surprises,” John said, casually letting his thoughts roll of his tongue.

Sherlock paused, blinked, and smiled at John. “I’m not the only one.”

 

Sherlock wasn’t going to lie to himself. Since he was young, he wondered what a relationship with someone would be like, even dreamed about it. But this was so far beyond what he was expecting, and he didn’t mind. This was better. This was perfect. Because this was John. A man who complimented him well with more than just his words, but as a person too. From the moment they had met, they had been like that, had that understanding, and together, in all their years of knowing each other, they had continued to grow and become closer, that bond of understanding becoming infinitely stronger.

“So have you heard from Lestrade about a case?” John asked after a moment, bringing up a usual topic of discussion, but this time, not one Sherlock cared about.

“No cases,” Sherlock said. “None that are interesting enough to take me away from what I’m going to be working on, or what I’d like to anyways.”

John’s turn to raise an eyebrow at Sherlock. “And what’s that?”

“Finding out what makes you tick,” Sherlock gave a devilish grin, his eyes alight with mischief.

“Tick?” John inquired, “You’ve known me for years, you know what makes me tick.”

“Not what makes you tick,” Sherlock said, “but what makes you _tick_.”

John’s eyes went wide for a brief second, but then his face relaxed. His entire body seemed to lose all of its tension. He licked his lips, the edges desperate to pull into a full smile. “Tick. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

Sherlock waved a hand around as if waving the question away. “How would I know?”

John laughed. “Oh Sherlock. Either way, you are seriously going to have to woe me before you get to woah-who me.”

Sherlock gave a little pout, “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Not meant to be,” John replied casually, finding his confidence again. “So that means lots of fantastic days and fun nights while you try and figure out what makes me _tick._ ”

Sherlock suppressed a shiver. John was so much better that nicotine. So much better that a murder case. “I always did like the clever ones.”


	3. More and More

            John sat at the kitchen table, coffee in one hand, the morning paper in the other. His robe hung loose around his chest, something he normally paid little mind too, but this particular moment, John was very acutely aware of how loose his robe was. Sherlock walked around the corner, barely dressed in his sheet- something not entirely on purpose. Sherlock’s dark curls were still untamable and wild looking, and though completely sexy, Sherlock would’ve tried to reign in those glorious locks. He stumbled a bit, quickly moving to grab the wall. Sherlock leaned against it, and John could still see the crust in his eyes.

            A smile slid across John’s lips before he looked back to his paper. He sat there and pretended the world beyond his kitchen was interesting. He pretended he didn’t noticed Sherlock eyeing him from across the kitchen. John could practically feel the shift in the air, feel Sherlock become aware of his surroundings. The air had quickly gone from slow moving, relaxed, and light to something thick and heated.

            Triumph swelled within John’s exposed chest and he resisted the immense urge to grin like an idiot.

            “Morning,” John greeted, just barely managing to keep himself from croaking with excitement. “Sleep well?”

            Even after their little scene in front of Mrs. Hudson, they had decided to stick to their own rooms for awhile; at least until both decided they could be comfortable with other arrangements. But it had been so much more complicated than that. Sherlock wasn’t used to sharing his bed, nor the idea of it. John, though very used to it, had never been more terrified of the thought. This was Sherlock after all, a man he has known for years, his best friend, his roommate. The last thing John wanted to do was accidently rush things and screw up. John knew he couldn’t live with himself if he screwed this up.

            So waiting was the game, and John thought he was playing it rather well. He flirted with Sherlock a bit more openly, no longer fearing rejection. They went out on dates. One night, John became incredibly drunk and may or may not have _accidently_ groped Sherlock. A very heated moment followed on the couch. Mrs. Hudson walked in. It was horrifying. But, all in all, it felt like they had a real relationship as a couple.

            “I, uh, fine,” Sherlock replied. “I slept fine. You?” his heavy gaze finally reached John’s eyes, passing slowly by John’s smirk.

            “Great,” John replied, giddy and trying desperately to rein it in. He was doing about as well as Sherlock trying to keep the lust from his gaze. In other words, they were both failing. John wanted to jump across the table and run his hands through those rumpled curls as his lips explored Sherlock’s body. Meanwhile, Sherlock looked ready to open that robe all the way and send it sailing across the flat. It was hideous anyways. Sherlock always said he never liked it.

            “Been up long?” Sherlock pried his eyes away from John, looking to everything that wasn’t John. The table, a chair, curtains off in the living room. The ceiling wasn’t John. The ceiling wasn’t nearly as nice looking, nor was it even remotely distracting. It took all Sherlock had to keep his gaze upwards.

            John shrugged, “Long enough to brew some tea. It’s still hot. Did you want a bit?”

            “Please,” Sherlock managed, but as soon as John stood, Sherlock felt his stomach flip. It wasn’t a feeling he should have been accustomed too, but, oh, he was. His stomach had been doing that for years. Every now and then, any time John had been there. Any time John had used the word ‘amazing’ or ‘fantastic’ or ‘brilliant’ in the same sentence as Sherlock’s own name, there it was. A flip of the stomach, an extra beat of the heart.

            John’s robe was short, coming just above the knees, and as he stood, the robe refitted itself to John’s body. It hugged him around the arms, down by his waist, across his chest. John knew he must have been a sight to see because Sherlock’s attention shot straight to him and didn’t leave again. Not as John grabbed Sherlock a mug, or as he poured the tea, or even as he brought the tea to Sherlock.

            Sherlock lifted the mug to his lips without saying thank you, without saying anything and took a drink. It took him all of three seconds to realize his mistake, and John couldn’t help but laugh as Sherlock’s eyes shot wide and he flinched back. Tea spilt everywhere, and John jumped back instantly at the sight of flying liquid.

            “I said it was still hot,” John reminded Sherlock as he laughed his way to a drawer containing dish towels. Sherlock rushed to a table to set the tea down while putting hand to his mouth. It was a vain attempt to keep the tea already in his mouth from joining the rest of the tea on the floor or on his bed sheet. All he ended up doing was dropping the lovely blue sheet to the floor as John turned around.

            “Sher-” John stopped mid-syllable, eyes going wide. He closed his mouth and dragged his gaze up to Sherlock’s eyes-though not before memorizing each line of the other man’s body. He tried to look away, to turn away because that really was the only way John was going to _not_ look at Sherlock. It took a moment, but he finally accomplished his task, but not before turning beet red as if it were him stark naked in their kitchen.

            Behind him, John could hear Sherlock say, “Sorry,” in that deep voice of his, could hear how close he was. The sink wasn’t too far away from where John stood, and really he should’ve known that Sherlock was going to walk over there.

            John turned around, his composure in check, and looked at Sherlock. “I’m not complaining,” he let slip and then quickly coughed as if that would really cover his words. “It’s just, it wasn’t like it, uh, was a bad sight…” John let his words trail off. There was no hope for him. Naked Sherlock fried his brain. There were no congruent thoughts or sentences. Just a bunch of words that sounded a lot like compliments because they were the first things that popped into his head. It was as though some sort of filter were broken inside of John’s head.

            With his words, Sherlock’s heavy gaze swept over John. The heat of it was almost tempting enough to make John look away. Almost. It was as though John could see into that big head of Sherlock’s. He could see all the things that Sherlock was seeing in his mind. For a moment, it was like John had been granted permission to a full view of Sherlock’s so called mind palace. And it was a lot dirtier then what John’s was. There were things John hadn’t even thought of, but, you know, he wasn’t complaining; he was just… observing. Picking out the things he liked. Picking out what he wanted to do first. He really was quite enjoying himself.

            Screw it. Damn his inhibitions! John’s hands were on Sherlock’s chest, pushing him against the counter before pulling him down. Sherlock was rigid at the first touch of their lips, but as soon as the initial shock wore off, Sherlock melted to fit against John’s body perfectly.

            Long fingers brushed through John’s short hair, every follicle feeling alive. His nerves buzzed. Heat rushed beneath his skin, through his veins. Oh God, yes. He wanted more. More of this feeling. More of Sherlock.

            John lost control of the situation and before he realized what was happening, Sherlock was shifting their position so it was John against the counter. A smile slid across his face.

 

            Sherlock could feel John smile into their kiss and something like pride swelled in his chest. Accomplishment. He caused that smile. He would cause many more too. And by the end of the night, he would cause more than just smiles.


End file.
